


On Thin Ice

by rosetapes



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, mainly fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8157773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosetapes/pseuds/rosetapes
Summary: Numbers and Wrench have put many men in the ice, but it doesn't always go exactly to plan. These are the times they'd rather not remember.





	1. Shot Through the Neck

**Author's Note:**

> this is just some fluffy, random one shots because I wanted to write some Wrench and Numbers related. No spoilers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Numbers gets shot, not a fun time

It wasn’t nice being shot in the neck.

It was… unpleasant? An irritant? Something that you put to the side but kept nagging you to notice it? Were those the words, he didn’t know. But he knew it hurt. Very much.

Numbers lay on the ice. It was cold, and it was wet. He could feel it seeping through his - expensive, mind you, jacket. His best jacket. Why did he always wear his good jackets to failed jobs. But of course, he should have expected it, luck was never on his side, and ice was cold. He contemplated whether being downed by a gunshot wound would have been more pleasant happening in a desert. He doubted it, the sand would get in the would and he knew sand. Once you got it on you it wouldn’t ever leave. He and Wrench had headed down to a small Florida town on a job five months ago. Shootout on the beach. He swore he still had sand in his shoes.

Come to think of it, what _would_ be the best place to get shot? A hospital, he assumed, though he hadn’t bought up new insurance. Too much effort, what with the dangerous nature of their jobs. It was better work done in a back alley with a bottle of whiskey. It hurt sure, but it always hurts.

This little shit, however, hurt in particular.

He lay looking at the sky. It was grey. Hell, it was always grey. Again, what did he expect? It was Minnesota. Everything was grey here. They talked about places like Sweden and Norway, places  which suffered months of darkness in the winter, he was sure Minnesota was worse. Grey, all the goddamn time. Besides, there was lots you could do in the dark.

He could vaguely hear the sounds of a scuffle next to him. Boots scuffing in the snow, a grunt here and there. He wanted to turn and look, but his body didn’t agree. So he lay there facing the sky, watching his quickening breaths crystallise in the cold air.

Wrench would handle him. The guy had been scrawny anyway, 5’, what?, three maybe? Skinny, scared out of his wits. He’d only managed to get the best of them because of a gun Numbers hadn’t seen. Hiding a gun inside a guy’s pants, that was a new one.

So Numbers just lay there, waiting for something interesting to happen. The bullet had skimmed by, just brushing him, it was nothing serious. But by hell it hurt a lot, and bled a lot too. If he wasn’t dead from the initial wound he’d be gone from external bleeding. He’d bled before, lots of times - you don’t work a job like his without at least a few scrapes - but bleeding out was a new sensation. Warm. A relief from the cold ice under him.

The world grew suddenly very quiet. Shit, was this dying?

Numbers focused, face tightening as he attempted to listen. He heard footsteps, heavy and displacing flecks of snow into the air before the met their end on the ground once again, coming towards him.

God?

No, Wrench.

 _"You’re being dramatic again.”_ The tall man signed, sighing as he hefted Numbers over his shoulders.


	2. R.I.P Jacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrench's jacket gets ripped, suffice to say he's pissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fluff in this one was basically impossible to write, they're too cute!! No spoilers.

“Wrench, it’s a jacket, it’s really not that important.”

“It’s important to me.”

“Well, maybe you should sort out your priorities.”

“Excuse me, if you guys are going to kill me, can you just do it already?”

Numbers snapped his head towards the man. He was an ordinary looking fella; blonde hair, dark eyes, ugly shirt - office type. Or at least, that was where they’d snatched him from.

“Well, excuse me. I think you can see we’re having a moment here.” He snarled mockingly, turning his attention back towards his skulking partner. 

It should have gone smoothly. This was such an easy job, grab the man, interrogate him, chuck him in the ice if necessary. But the guy had had to have tried to fight back. It was always a hassle when they did that, just sit back and take the hit with some respect. Would he have fought back if the same happened to him? Yeah, sure, but at he would do it with style.

All this guy had managed to do was flail his arms around and piss Wrench off. He flailed his arms around and managed to rip Wrench’s ‘beloved’ fringe jacket.

“It cost a lot, you know.” Wrench signed, his actions stiff. Jesus, Numbers thought, he was angry.

“How much?”

“$150.”

“Well, gee, I’ll just buy you another one.”

“The price doesn’t matter. It’s special to me okay.”

“But you just said- You know what, hold that thought.”

Numbers turned once again back to the man. He raised his eyebrows. He’d done that a lot lately, flexed his eyebrows in various expressions of disbelief and stress. His brows must be strong as hell right now.

“You pissed off my friend.” He said, taking off his black leather gloves and reaching into his coat pocket. “You realise that you just made my day one hundred percent worse? My week even, yeah, he’ll be sulking about this all week.”

The man squirmed, and squirmed some more as Numbers produced a black bandana from his pocket. He placed it between his teeth, and put his gloves back on. Slowly. He always liked to think he looked menacing when he was holding something between his teeth. Did he know why? No, but it worked like a charm.

“Put this one.” He said, handing the man the bandana. “Around your mouth, like a good boy.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” The man asked, his face contorted in a strange concoction of fear and defiance.

Numbers pulled out a gun and pointed it at the man’s face. Yeah, definitely erring on the fear side now.

“How about you do it or I shoot you?”

“I can’t! I’ve got no free hands!” The man gestured wildly to his bound hands.   
“Well figure it out!” Numbers shouted, patience wearing thin. He walked towards Wrench, who had removed himself to the far edge of the ice. The walk was awkward, and Wrench had positioned himself in a way that gave Numbers a full view of his displeasure.

“I told you, you idiot, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“And I told you, that the price doesn’t matter. This is my jacket. It stays mine.”

“Shit, I guess I have to sew it up for you to be happy then, huh?”

“I would take that as a serious offer, if you could actually sew.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I can sew, better than you could anyway.”

“That’s settled it then. Sew up my jacket.” 

Wrench pulled his jacket off his shoulders and thrust it into his partners arms. Numbers whistled, partly is amusement, partly in rage. He couldn’t believe this. He knew Wrench could be irrational, but this was ridiculous. But he was sure as hell going to sew up this jacket, that’d show him.

“I suppose a please would be too much?” He yelled, abandoning the sign language. He knew Wrench couldn’t hear him, he was walking back towards their mystery man, still trying in vain to tie the bandana around his mouth. But it gave him satisfaction to yell at him. Nonchalantly, he slipped the fringe jacket on. It was big even on him, and he wasn’t exactly scrawny. It smelled good, like autumn leaves and freshly chopped wood. He looked a fool, but he wasn’t taking it off. For sure.


	3. A Second Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That feeling when your target escapes but you're just worrying about that pizza you ordered.
> 
> I know it's only chapter three but I'm running out of ideas so if anyone has any prompts that would be cute!

_“He was here a second ago.”_

_“Well a second ago isn’t right now, and I want to know where he is right now.”_

_“I turned around for two seconds-“_

_“Oh! So now it’s two seconds?”_

_“I don’t exactly recall you being much help.”_

_“I was conducting some business over the phone by the car, you know this.”_

_“Bullshit! You were sat on your ass in the passenger seat whining and complaining about the cold!”_

_“Okay, you want to bring swearing into this? I can bring swearing into this! I can fucking bring swearing into this!”_

Numbers arched his back, leant and looked at the sky. Sure, maybe he hadn’t been conducting business on the phone, but pondering instead whether or not to order a pizza. It was fair enough, Wrench loved pizza and he wanted to order it as a surprise. A pepperoni (Wrench’s favourite) pizza after a long day on the ice would be the closest they would ever get to heaven. The guy didn’t like to admit it, but he was always cold, Numbers could see how he shivered, fringe jacket and all.

Signal was testy at best around these remote parts, and he’d only just managed to call in the order when Wrench had come banging on the windows of the car. Had he been complaining about the cold? It was likely, and to no one in particular. Numbers often wondered if he was mad, talking to himself the way he did, but he thought that the ice did that to a person. The barrenness made the sound of your own voice comforting.

He felt a sharp slap across his head.

“What the fuck was that for?” He spoke aloud, his voice steaming in the cold air.

_“You spaced out.”_

_“Okay well, what was your side of the story? You were supposed to be looking out for him.”_

_“I told you, I turned around for three seconds-“_

_“Three? It’s three now is it?”_

_“Shut it, dumbass. I turned around for three seconds and I turn back, the guy’s gone.”_

Wrench shifted his position. Sure, maybe he’d turned around to glance at his phone for four seconds. Nothing more than that, he was sure of it. Besides, he’d ordered a pizza for Numbers a while ago and was checking to see if it had been delivered. The pizza company said they’d text him when they were ten minutes away, but nothing had come through yet. The signal was terrible up in these parts of the countryside. He’d be pissed if it didn’t arrive. American hot (Numbers’ favourite) pizza would amazing after a cold day like this.

But he’d had to turn around.

He expected that was when their ‘subject’ had made a run for it. He would have assumed they’d tied him up tight enough, but that was Numbers’ job so it was entirely his fault. Hell, they’d thought they’d knocked the guys lights out well and truly. He could remember that conversation from hours ago as if it had just happened.

“Shit.” Numbers’ had said, aloud. He always forgot to sign when he was stressed. “Wrench I think you’ve killed him.”

_“Of course I haven’t. Besides what would it matter, we kill them all anyway, sooner or later.”_

_“It matters,”_ Numbers signed, drawing out the word. _“Because we haven’t got the information yet. Shoot first, ask questions later is not our motto. If anything, it’s ask questions then dump them in the ice, but that’s not very catchy, is it?”_

Numbers pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Imbecile.” He muttered.

Sometimes, when Numbers was stressed, he forgot that Wrench could read lips.

But that was okay, he was a highly strung person, this insult wasn’t the first nor was it likely to be the last.

Wrench laid a hand on his partners’ shoulders, snapping out of his daydream, before removing it and signing _“Wait.”_

“What are you doing?” Numbers shook him off, offended that his private space was being invaded by an oaf who had let their guy go. Yeah, he was bitter. “You know I don’t like being touched.”

_“Look.”_ Wrench gestured towards a trail of footprints. _“Looks like our guy made off that way.”_

Numbers’ eyes followed the trail of footsteps and noted two things. One, that the trail led into the forest; and two, that their victim had had incredibly large feet. Numbers squinted and tried to remember the height of the guy. He hadn’t been remarkably tall, for he and Wrench had towered over him, which was usual. Had he had huge feet? Christ, he couldn’t remember. He never noted the height of their ‘clients’, they would be dead within an hour, so what did it matter if they had a handlebar moustache or, as this guy appeared, grotesquely large feet.

Wrench glanced at his partner, he was doing that thing again. The thinking, the over thinking. He began to walk in the direction of the prints but felt a hand on his shoulder. Interesting, Numbers was never the most touchy type.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Numbers said, turning his partner towards him. (Not an easy job, the guy was big and stood strong.) _“Let’s just leave him, huh? The guy’s lost, disorientated, it’s the dead of winter. If he doesn’t freeze to death, at least he won’t be dumb enough to bother us again. Besides, my pizza order came through, so let’s just go home.”_

_Shit,_ Wrench thought. _He always has to make the romantic gesture._

At least the pizza would be warm, the closest thing to heaven they would ever get.


End file.
